


Warm my Hands (Burn my Heart)

by delicatetozier



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But we still love them, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Ending, M/M, MIKE HANLON IS A GOOD FRIEND AND WE APPRECIATE HIM, Minor Angst, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, also stan is a Sweet Boy, and runs away, and the losers will not fucking stand for it, because went and mags would NEVER treat my boy this way, benverly is minor, maybe???, richie gets sad, richie is adopted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 21:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16126778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicatetozier/pseuds/delicatetozier
Summary: in which richie freaks out and the losers can't find him.Orrichie tozier forgets how important he is to his friends, they are determined to remind him.





	Warm my Hands (Burn my Heart)

**Author's Note:**

> this started as practice for me to learn to write in present tense, it didn't turn out awful. i hope you like it!
> 
> my tumblr is @delicatetozier (was @trashmoutheds)

Richie thinks that if he bites his lip hard enough, he can keep from bursting into tears. He’s wrong. Instead, he turns on heel and sprints away from the group - as if in a race with his own emotions. 

The boy only makes it halfway home before his legs give out and the heels of his palms are digging into the pavement. His shoulders tremble with heavy sobs. Storm clouds rumble and roll overhead, thunder roars intimidatingly, but Richie barely hears it. 

His chest throbs and he grabs a fistful of fire-stained curls, tugging as hard as his pain tolerance will allow. Rain begins to splatter down, easy at first but quickly gaining strength - and, soon enough, Richie is soaked. His hair falls flat under the weight of the water, hanging low past his chin and just hitting his shoulders. 

He can’t go home - he _can’t_ \- but there’s nowhere else for him to go. The gang’s mad at Richie, and rightfully so. He supposes that's what he gets for being an annoying asshole, but he wants more than anything to just be liked - and, sometimes, his mouth runs before his brain can. But, right now, his brain is running like a faucet because _it’s happening again it’s happening again it’s happening again they’re going to leave_ \- and it takes all of his strength not to slam his head onto the wet concrete. 

He can clearly hear Eddie’s voice _you’re going to fucking catch pneumonia and die!_ and it makes his heart throb. Richie, pitifully, pulls himself off the ground and slugs the rest of the way home. But, whenever he approaches the house, an uneasy feeling settles in his gut and he thinks he can almost hear the screaming from inside. So, instead of turning to head towards the front door, he bypasses the house completely and stumbles aimlessly into the woods surrounding his neighborhood. 

What seems to be hours later, Richie finds himself standing inside of the roach-infested treehouse he and Bill built over a decade ago. His head is stuffy and his nose is running and he’s fucking freezing, but, at least he’s not home. He sits in there until the moon shines, dims, then shines again and the rain is long gone - it must be days, he thinks, since he’s left. But, no one comes looking for him. The thought makes him ache all over again.  
-  
Eddie Kaspbrak is, for once, completely at peace - and, it’s unnerving. The group has never been this silent, besides the sound of Mike’s heavy breathing, as he’d just sprinted the entire way from his grandfather’s farm to the Uris household. Beverly sucks down a cigarette like she’s fucking immortal, though, her fingers are shaking as she holds it. Bill chews his nails down to the bed, until they’re red and uneven and look disgustingly sore - Stan says absolutely nothing about it. 

Eddie’s knee bounces, right against Ben’s shoulder as he sits on the floor with his legs out straight and Beverly against his chest.

“This fucking _sucks_.” Beverly finally says, breaking the silence, “I miss that jackass.” 

She crushes the bud and tosses it into Stan’s bedside trash can. Stan doesn’t even blink.

“Do you think it’s because I yelled at him?” 

Bill shrugs hopelessly, “That’s nuh-never stopped him before.”

But, his words don’t console Stan even the slightest bit - because it’s been four days since the trashmouth came around, or even fucking called to check in. Eddie picks at a hangnail as he bares down on his lip, both of which he often scolds Richie for. He wonders if this is how the boy always feels - mind going a mile a minute.

“I didn’t mean to upset him, but he fucking broke Mike’s hand.” 

Mike glances down at his wrapped palm, then lets out a heavy breath, “It was an accident. Could’ve happened to anyone.”

“You cruh-cried.” Bill says.

“It hurt.” Mike replies, “But I don’t blame him. I just slipped and caught my hand on some rocks - an innocent mistake.”

Ben nods in agreement, though, Mike isn’t sure he’s even listening.

“I think Rich was already having a bad day.” Beverly says, “Probably some shit at home.”

“He came to my house the night before - snuck in and cracked a couple of dumb jokes. I called him annoying.” Eddie says, then furrows his brows, “Now that I think about it, he was upset then, too.” He looks up at Stan with a soft smile, “My fault, too, Stanley.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Eddie finally rips the hangnail off, and blood flows steadily from the wound. Beverly lights up another cigarette. 

“Do you think we should go back by his house?” Stan asks, and Mike shakes his head.

“He wouldn’t have gone there.” 

Bill head falls in his hands, “We’ve chu-checked everywhere!”

“Well, he didn’t just fucking vanish.” Eddie is getting angry now. “We won’t find him until we actually _look_.”

“But the cops-”

“Aren’t fucking _doing anything_! They don’t care about us!”

It’s been two days since they reported Richie missing, and they’ve heard nothing in return other than _why didn’t the boy’s parents call?_ and Stan’s fists ball up just thinking about them. Eddie’s voice cracks as he yells, and Mike swears he feels his eyes watering again. All of the losers love Richie, of course they do, but Eddie’s love for him is different. Not necessarily stronger, but certainly different. 

He moves to wrap an arm around the boy, and Eddie’s lip immediately tugs down. No one looks at him as he lets out a heart-wrenching cry, but Mike’s hand rubs up and down his arm and Ben’s fingers curl around his ankle. 

“If the adults aren’t going to do anything, I guess it’s up to us.”

Ben lets out a breath laugh and squeezes Beverly’s arm, “Always is, isn’t it?”

Hours later, the air is thin and cold and Eddie’s legs are sore from pedaling. His small coat is doing nothing to protect him from the frosty air, but all he can think about is _RichieRichieRichie_ , who wasn’t even wearing a jacket last time they saw him - and probably still isn’t. His basket is filled with extra gloves, hats, and blankets for if - _when_ , he thinks - they find Richie.

Beverly is ahead of Eddie by a few feet, but she feels like a turtle going down the street. She can’t will herself to push any faster because she swears her heart weighs a ton inside her chest. A pressure is swelling inside her skull and she thinks, if she tried, she could pop a blood vessel. 

They are alone, having sent Mike with Bill, and Stan in an opposite direction. Ben chose to circle around Richie’s neighborhood a few times, and they all have their walkie-talkies on full volume. Beverly can’t look back at Eddie, even as she hears his soft crying, because her own eyes are stinging painfully.

It’s getting dim, and Beverly’s legs feel like jelly. She pulls to a stop and presses her gloved hands onto her cheeks, working her cramping fingers open and closed. She feels hopeless and tired and cold, but she just wants Richie. Beverly lets out a long, heavy breath - watching as it clouds thickly in front of her mouth, then fades into the cold. 

Her walkie-talkie crackles from where it’s hooked on her hoodie pocket.

“Billy?” She says, “That you?”

The talkie crackles again as Eddie pulls to a stop next to her. The connection is staticy and the words coming from the other side are jumbled. 

“One more time, Big Bill.” Beverly prompts, then bits down on her bottom lip. 

The static is back, then a voice comes through - not clear, but clear enough, “Eds?”

Eddie wastes no time in snatching the device from Beverly and smashing the button down, “Richie? Is that you? Where are you?”

His voice is shaking, but not as badly as his hands. Richie sounds bad - voice hoarse and exhausted and trembling. Beverly lays a hand on his shoulder, a silent plead to calm down.

“Where are you, Rich?” He says again, tongue heavy in his mouth.

The talkie screams, then cuts off. Eddie’s eyes water profusely and he goes to press the button, when the same voice speaks again.

“Treehouse.”

Eddie looks to Beverly for some type of help, but she only shrugs. 

“What treehouse?” no response comes, “Richie?”

“By his house!” Bill suddenly cuts in, loudly, over the talkie, “The wuh-woods by his house!”

Eddie shoves the walkie-talkie back at Beverly, and, when she gets it clipped back on her pocket, he’s already gone. By the time Eddie arrives at the Tozier house, he’s a wheezing mess. His face is flushed and sweaty, despite the weather, and his legs tremble under his weight. He gathers the things from his basket and abandons his bike next to Ben’s, which has been placed against the trunk of a tree. 

He ambles through the woods, practically lost, when a shout catches his attention.

“Eddie! Over here!” 

Ben is jumping up and down, flailing his arms like crazy. He’s standing under what once was a ladder, but is now just a couple pieces of wood barely stuck together. 

“He’s in here! Come quick with the blankets!”

And, Eddie doesn’t have to be told twice. He rushes up the mossy, rotten wood without another thought - with only one hand, too. The minute he falls into the treehouse, the air is knocked from his lungs. Richie’s skin is blue, lips a deep shade a purple, and he’s not moving. Eddie collapses next to him, pulling his body over and wrapping the blanket tight around his shoulders.

Tears drip down Eddie’s face as he picks up one of Richie’s ice cold hands and crams a glove onto it. After Richie’s hands are covered, Eddie pulls a hat over his curls, noticing how they’ve literally frozen onto his head. He hugs Richie as close as he can, tucking the boy’s head under his chin and pressing his face into the warmth of his own neck. He hears Ben’s voice again, followed by a few others. Mike is the next one to come into the treehouse, then Stan, then Beverly. They all gape at Richie, and Stan almost feels sick. 

“We have to get him out of here.” Eddie says, gripping at the blanket so hard his knuckles turn white, “Mike, you have to help me get him down. He’s going to freeze to death!”

Mike flinches at the pain in Eddie’s voice, and he’s quick to grab onto Richie’s legs. Mike takes the brunt of the dead weight, using his bad hand to clutch onto each step as his other arm is wrapped around Richie’s waist. Eddie climbs down right after, arm tucked under Richie’s to keep him upright. 

As soon as they get to the ground, Bill helps them rush back out of the woods - apparently knowing the path like the back of his hand. Stan, Beverly, and Ben are right on their heels.

Richie’s house is the closest - and the _emptiest_ , apparently, because as a mass of kids fall into the front door, no one bothers to check on them. Mike carries Richie like a baby, cradled in his arms, all the way up to the bathroom. Stan turns the faucet on and Beverly plugs the drain in the tub. Bill and Ben peel off Richie’s frozen clothes, trying not to look too much at his ribs and hip bones - which are sticking out way too much - and Eddie wets a rag with steaming water, pressing it on the boy’s lips and cheeks. 

They decide to leave his boxers on as they hoist him into the tub, and the others don’t even bother asking who’s going to stay with him, because Eddie is already stripped down and climbing into the tub, too. Ben shuts the door as they leave. 

Eddie soaks Richie’s hair in the hot water, watching as they fall back into soft locks instead of icy clumps. He massages in the shampoo, gently, until the red has been completely covered by suds - then, works in conditioner. Once Eddie is finished with cleaning Richie up, his skin is almost back to its normal color and his lips are full and pink. Eddie can’t help but press a sweet kiss onto his cheek.

“Please wake up, Rich.” He says, soft, “I miss you.”

With one last warm rinse, Eddie gets Richie into some dry clothes and takes his time combing through and drying his hair. Then, with the help of Mike, Richie is tucked into his own bed - sheets clean and wrinkle-free, thanks to Stanley. The losers all pile up in Richie's room, and the air feels less dense now that they're all there. Most of them sit on the floor, but Stan sits at Richie's desk and Eddie is curled into Richie's side - which he would never usually do but, if the losers mind, they don't show it.

“We always muh-meant to take you guys there,” Bill says, after a while, then shakes his head, “But nuh-not like that.” Ben’s head is resting on Bill’s shoulder, and his eyes are dangerously wet, “Rich and I buh-built it after his parents - y’know. Buh-but after his foster parents adopted him, they wouldn’t let him go in the wuh-woods anymore. That treehouse is Richie’s baby.” Bill’s lips curl up, and he looks at Eddie, “Well, it _was_.”

Eddie has never flushed so bright. He flips Bill off. Everyone in the room is smiling - almost - and things start to feel normal again. The vice around Eddie’s lungs seems to loosen and, after days, he’s able to take a deep breath. He clenches his eyes shut tight and cradles Richie’s head as close as he can manage.

After a long while, Richie begins to stir and shifts so that he's able to press his face into Eddie's shoulder. He lets out a low groan that catches everyone’s attention and, in a second, they’re all gathered around his bed.

“Rich?” Beverly’s voice is quiet, as if afraid she’ll frighten him.

Richie only hums and curls further into Eddie, whose heart is beating so hard he swears it’ll crack his ribs. 

“Are you fuh-feeling okay?”

Richie nods, and his curls tickle Eddie’s chin, “Tired.” He finally says, voice hoarse.

Mike lays a hand on the boy, giving his bicep a squeeze, “We'll leave you to rest, then, bud.” - but none of them make a quick move. For a moment, they all just stare at him. Ben’s hands twitch at his sides, like he’s struggling not to reach out and touch the boy - they find Beverly’s, instead. 

Richie fists tighten around Eddie's t-shirt - a silent plead - and Eddie presses a kiss to his hair in response. 

“Call us later, Eddie. “ Beverly says, and her eyes are sad, “Keep us posted.”

With that, they file out the door. Stan hangs back, still staring at Richie with pinched brows. He sits on the other side of the bed and gives the boy an awkward hug, squeezing him tight.

“I’m sorry, Richie.” Eddie thinks it must be the first time Stan’s ever apologized - just by the way his voice wavers, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You’re a good friend.” Stan gives Richie’s temple a kiss and offers Eddie a soft smile.

Eddie doesn’t say anything - but he feels the words strangling his lungs. The guilt eats away at him but, by the time he musters up enough courage to say anything, soft snores are falling from Richie’s lips. Eddie’s aching eyes never do so much as flutter.  
-  
The house is still empty when Eddie sneaks back into Richie’s bedroom with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. He can’t bring himself to worry about Richie’s awful parents and their whereabouts, because the boy has curled in on himself and is shivering so badly, Eddie wonders if the bed will break. 

Eddie rushes to grab another blanket, throwing it over the trembling body. The form shifts and a messy fluff of burning embers lift from the mattress, “Eddie?”

Richie’s emerald orbs are highlighted by a ring of red, cheeks swollen, and lips wet. Eddie’s heart cracks as he realizes: Richie wasn’t shivering, he was _sobbing_.

“Eddie,” he says again, and his lips twist down, “Eddie, _please_ don’t leave again.” 

“I didn’t leave, baby,” Eddie is already crawling back into the bed, “I’m right here, I won’t leave.”

The room shifts and Eddie cringes at his own words, but Richie says nothing about it - just leans close and rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder. 

“I’m so _sorry_.” Eddie’s voice is so small, it makes the prickles stand on Richie’s arm and he holds on just a little tighter. Richie feels like he’s been punched in the gut, “I don’t ever tell you enough - but I appreciate you so _fucking_ much, Rich. You’re my best friend in the whole world and I-” He cuts off, voice catching. Then, even smaller, “I love you. Like _really_ love you.”

It falls quiet, and everything is gentle - the ghost of clumsy fingertips on the nape of Eddie’s neck, the mingling of bright jade and creamy chocolate. Wet, clumpy lashes meet in a tight blink, and when they are again separated, Eddie is greeted with a constellation of freckles. He lets out a nervous breath, and he thinks it must go directly into Richie’s parted lips.

“Eddie,” he says, hoarse, and Eddie melts a little, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

And, although Richie’s hands are still cold, his lips are burning when they touch Eddie’s. A searing overlap of teeth and tongue - and Eddie thinks he might fucking explode because he’s so lightheaded that needle-like raindrops dance along his fingers as they tangle into Richie’s shirt. Even as they part, a thick string of saliva keeps them connected.

“I won’t leave you,” Eddie says again, unprompted.

Richie just kisses him again - chaste, this time, but it makes Eddie’s heart flutter all the same. When Richie pulls away this time, tears are rolling down his cheeks and he’s so filled with _affection_ that he could burst. He thinks he must look like a fool, but Eddie simply brushes the droplets away and presses small pecks under his eyes.

And, when Richie looks into Eddie’s eyes, he sees not even a twinge of annoyance - only pure adoration, and he can’t stop the smile that stretches across his lips. 

His heart burns hot.


End file.
